


Never Seen The Rain

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Gen, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mission Fic, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Not Clintasha, Not Happy, Not Slash, Past Rape/Non-con, Platonic Bathing, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Clint Barton, Recovery, Song: Never Seen the Rain, Whump, just really close friends, platonic sharing a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: And it gets you downBut that's okayYou've been pushed 'roundYou feel the painAnd when you fallJust lean on me'Cause you've never knownNever seen, never smelt, never feltThe rain- Tones and I______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Clint Barton knows better than to worry about Natasha Romanoff. She's the Black Widow for starters, and time after time she's proved to everyone who's doubted her that she can handle any mission. He knows her better than anyone, and he knows her strength better than anyone. Still, when she shows up on his floor of the tower in the early hours of the morning after two weeks of no contact, Clint Barton worries about Natasha Romanoff.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Never Seen The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> There is referenced rape/non-con but no graphic descriptions, and nothing on-screen. Also, warning for some harsh language  
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> This isn't my usual fluffy stuff, but it has the same amount of comfort as any other fics I've written (by that I mean an excessive amount of comfort). I'm sorry for hurting Natasha. She's my baby, but I had the idea for this one-shot, and I had to write it! Hope y'all enjoy!

Clint Barton knows better than to worry about Natasha Romanoff. She's _the_ Black Widow for starters, and time after time she's proved to everyone who's doubted her that she can handle any mission. He knows her better than anyone, and he knows her strength better than anyone. Still, when she shows up on his floor of the tower in the early hours of the morning after two weeks of no contact, Clint Barton worries about Natasha Romanoff. 

She'd described the mission before she left.

_"Simple,"_ she'd said, _"I surrender myself as their prisoner, let them have at it for a few weeks until I think I've pulled enough information from them, then I call for backup. Agents storm the place, and I come home with everything we need to bring down the whole operation."_ She'd smiled as she said it. _"Worried Barton? Think I can't handle a few weeks of psychological torture? That's their MO you know, mind fuckery."_ He winces as he remembers the cocky smirk that had played across her crimson painted lips. Her lips are crimson now too, but for different reasons. Everything about her is crimson now; her bloodstained face, the patches of bare scalp and the mottled red scars that run around her wrists and neck. They all tell Clint that the torturers hadn't stuck to their usual bit when trying to break the famously impenetrable Black Widow. 

He steps aside, waving her in, but she just stands there, leaning against the doorframe and waiting for him to come to his senses. He tentatively lifts his hands, palms out towards her, expecting her to turn down help. Instead, she nods before staggering into his waiting arms. He's stuck somewhere between trying to support her full body weight, and trying to keep his hold gentle, knowing that touch triggers her sometimes. She usually has no reserve about him in particular touching her, but right now he's not sure she even knows that it's Clint who's supporting her. He leads her into the washroom, pausing for a moment before lowering her slowly onto one of the expensive bath mats Tony had furnished the decadent (and frankly much too large) room with. He draws a bath, always keeping one eye on her as she leans back against a cupboard, and digs her fingers into the rug. 

"You already checked in with med?" Her response is delayed, but eventually comes,

"Mhm. They stitched up a few lacs, but otherwise I just have some deep bruising." He hums suspiciously as he carefully pulls her shirt up over her head,

"And they made no mention of the fact that you're so thin your ribs look like they're about to poke out through your skin?" Natasha whimpers in pain as he tugs off her pants, but covers it up by clearing her throat,

"Yeah, uhm, they want me on a feeding tube-" She winces as he proceeds to undress her, "but I don't really have the time to go down three floors whenev-" 

"Nat," Clint cuts her off scoldingly, "you know as well as I that you have to follow med's orders, no matter how stupid." He lifts her up with little effort, and lowers her into the tub. She hisses as her body hits the water, but he's not sure if it's from pain or his words. Maybe, it's a mix of both. He helps her lean back, then gently scrubs her wild shorn hair, causing flakes of dirt and blood to colour the bath. She moans and leans into the soothing touch of his nails grazing her head, carefully avoiding the bald patches where her hair was pulled out. Clint half smiles, and spends a little longer than he needs to running his fingers through her hair. He can't help but think that she's really an enigma; she won't let most people touch her, but with him she's so desperate for little soothing touches it's like she's touch starved. He's gentle of her injuries as he runs a soapy cloth over her skin, but she still whimpers in pain when he reaches her abdomen, so he tries desperately to distract her from the pain by talking mindlessly. He tells her about how big Cooper is getting, and all of Lila's latest antics. "I think she's gonna be an archer, you know?" He states as he gently pats her down with a towel. Natasha smiles for the first time since she's been home, but it's worn around the edges. 

"Clint?" He helps her out of the tub, and back onto the bath mat. 

"Yeah Nat?" His fingers are back in her hair, and she lets out a hum of satisfaction before she continues, 

"You think I could spend the night here?" He brushes her face with his thumb and she swats it away, though there's no fire behind the action, 

"Anytime." Clint smiles and leaves to go grab her a change of clothes from her floor.

* * *

Half an hour passes, and the two spies find themselves curled up on Clint's couch. Natasha was already getting close to sleep by the time Clint had taken her down to med to get her ng tube set up, and by this point she's basically passed out on his chest, though for some reason she's fighting the exhaustion. He props her up a little so that he can check the feeding tube for any kinks before she goes to sleep. She barely even flinches as he presses his fingers onto her cheek, confirming that the tape is secure, and her eyes stay trained on the Disney film playing like she's a tired toddler who wants to finish a show before bedtime. 

"You know," he lowers her back into her resting position on his chest, "sleep deprivation is not a good look on you. It more suits Stark." Natasha hisses at him, but still shifts in an attempt to get as close to him as possible, silently enjoying the sound of his heart beating under her ear. 

_He's right here, he's right here._ She repeats the mantra over and over again in her head till she believes it. _He is safety, and he is warmth. He is comfort, and he is right here._ She allows her eyes to drift close, feeling safer than she has in weeks.

But then, Natasha feels a hand run across her skin. It's muscly, and rough with callouses, and she knows instantly that she's in danger. _Open your eyes,_ she wills herself to move, _get to the ground before he drags you there by the chains!_ But, Natasha's so tired. So tired of kneeling, so tired of what follows it. The hand touches her again, and she recognizes that touch. It can only mean one thing, and that one thing is to get on the ground quick before she gets hurt. She forces her eyes open, and begins sliding to the ground with a whimper that she can't contain. Something is stopping her though, and holding her in place. This hasn't happened before, it's entirely new, but it can't mean anything good. She squeezes her eyes shut again and struggles against the hold, 

"I'm sorry," she begs, her voice barely a whisper, "I'll be quicker next time. I'm sorry." She braces herself for fists, or a blade, or somebody to do something while she's being held in this helpless position on her back, wrapped in chains and totally exposed. She braces herself for spit and angry shouts of _"Stupid whore!"_ and other similar phrases. Instead, she hears something else; a husky soft voice, sweet as honey to her ears, and familiar as a favourite blanket to a child. 

"Natasha Romanoff, you are safe. You have returned to Stark Tower after a two-week mission with no contact. You were collected by a team of SHIELD agents late in the night of November 22nd, and it is now the early morning of November 23rd." The voice is calm, and is slowly helping her regain her senses, so she allows it to continue for a while, "I am Clint Barton, your field partner at SHIELD, and your best friend-" She smiles at that, 

"Okay Clint, you can stop." Two hands hesitantly reach out to help her from her positions slumped halfway between the couch and the ground, making themselves known first by tapping her gently, 

"You all back Nat?" The mentioned curls in on herself, suddenly feeling an urge to be as small as possible. 

"I don't know what happened Clint. Two weeks ago I was fine." She stammers, at a loss for appropriate words, "I - I think I've been compromised. How can one mission compromise a person?" Clint notes the sheen in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks. 

"Hey hey hey, don't be so hard on yourself Nat!" He's desperate to comfort her, but thinks maybe excessive touch isn't the best idea at the moment. "We all have a mission that we think is gonna break us, but we don't let it. You don't give your enemies that satisfaction. You power through, and you'll be back on active duty before you know it." His words are instructional, but there's affection in his tone, "For now, I think it's time to take you to bed." That motivates Natasha to push herself off of him, and slowly rise to her feet,

"I'm not a child Barton. You don't need to put me to bed." Clint chooses to completely ignore that, and instead standing and giving her support as they make their way to the bedroom. She's shared enough beds with Clint to know that she takes the right side of the bed, so she's confused when he helps her sit on his side of the bed, and says he'll be right back. She focuses her limited energy on searching through the excessive amount of pillows on the bed to find her favourite. It's a skimpy, old, worn, and it's a horrendous shade of purple. But, it smells like bow wax and Clint's cologne. It smells like safety. She hears Clint enter the room, and pulls her face out of the pillow it's buried in. He has a towel in each arm, and she doesn't like the implication of that. She likes it even less when he spreads them out so they're covering the length of the right side fo the bed. He sees the angry look she gives him, and frowns sympathetically, 

"They did a number on you Nat. You know you're gonna' be upset if you puke or..." he trails off at the look she gives him. "Just incase." She give him a long-suffering sigh, but scoots over so that she's on top of the towel, and under the blankets. He smiles gratefully at her, and lowers himself on his side of the bed, careful not to jostle the bed too much. He doesn't touch her, which she's grateful for, just stays close enough that she can feel his steady breathing against her neck, and lets her drift off to sleep. 

* * *

When Natasha wakes up, the sun is just beginning to rise, and Clint is still asleep, but it's longer than she expected to sleep. Satisfied with her four hours of sleep, Natasha pulls herself from the bed and heads into the kitchenette to start coffee. As the coffee brews, she begins thinking with deep shame about how fragile she was last night. How open she was, letting him touch her, not keeping her emotions guarded. _Allowing yourself to be susceptible to_ attack. A voice in her head is screaming, and she reminds herself that Clint isn't like the men on her mission. Clint would never hurt her like that. But it doesn't matter that he wouldn't, the problem is that she gave him an opportunity to. So many opportunities. The coffee maker beeps, but she ignores it, feeling suddenly like she _has_ to leave. She limps weakly onto the balcony. She's no quite sure yet what the next step in her plan is, so she just sits crossed legged close to the edge, and watches with intrigue as the city comes to life. 

"It's going to rain." a voice says from behind her. She doesn't flinch, she expected Clint to follow her out here. He's right. The air is heavy and thick, a storm waiting to happen. 

"I know. I don't mind," she pauses thoughtfully, extending an arm behind her to accept the coffee she's sure he's holding out. "I didn't see anything on the mission, and I missed the sky." She winces internally at how she's allowing him in again, "Let it pour. I wanna'..." she's not sure what she wants,

"Feel it. Feel anything other than pain." he offers, settling on the ground next to him, "You wanna' smell it, hear it. I've been there." He leaves for a second, and upon return, envelopes her from behind in an oversized jacket. Sorry I followed you out here. I just wanted to make sure you weren't doing anything drastic." She shivers at what he's insinuating, "Enjoy your rain." She plans to let him leave, but instead her hand shoots up, and thin fingers wrap around Clint's wrist in a desperate choking claw. "Okay, okay." He plops down next to her, 

"You're gonna get wet." Natasha's voice is soft and strangled, 

"It's okay. I'll stay here if you want me to." 

"I want you to stay here." 

"Then I'm here."

The rain begins pouring suddenly, and Natasha tips her head back, sighing gratefully. She pulls off the hood so that she and Clint are getting equally soaked. Despite the fact that Clint is getting absolutely drenched in frigid rain, he's sitting serenely, palms open towards the sky so she has easy access to his hands. 

_He is here. Just like he promised._ She thinks to herself. _He is safety, and he is warmth. He is comfort, and he is right here._


End file.
